On the Hunt by Alexandra Ivy, Dianne Duvall, Rebecca Zanetti Page A

bother to struggle as one of the men ran his hand over her dress, swiftly locating her phone and tossing it into a clump of weeds.
    What was the point?
    It wasn’t as if she could fight off the three grown men, even if they were human.
    Besides, as long as they held a gun to Jacob’s head, they had her between a rock and a hard place.
    “Take her to Limburg.”
    Bailey parted her lips to demand to know who Limburg was, but before she could speak she saw the flash of a hand, then the world went black as the fist connected directly with her chin.

Chapter Eight
    When Bailey woke, she knew two things.
    One: She was in a dark, cramped room that reeked of rotting fish.
    And two: She had the headache from hell.
    Lying flat on her back, it took a painful minute to remember exactly why she was waking in a strange place with a throbbing brain.
    The Brotherhood goon had knocked her out.
    The bastard.
    Rubbing her chin, she slowly forced herself to a sitting position.
    “Damn,” she muttered, forced to lean back against the moldy cement wall as her head began to spin.
    “Are you okay?” a voice whispered from the darkness.
    She frowned, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
    She couldn’t see in the dark like a Sentinel, but there was enough sunlight creeping beneath the heavy steel door to allow her to make out the wooden pallets shoved in one corner and the stacks of empty crates that threatened to topple over.
    “Jacob?” she called softly.
    “I’m here.”
    The young man stepped from behind the crates, moving to squat beside her.
    Bailey took a close inventory of his face. His eye was only slightly swollen and most of the bruises had begun to fade.
    Which meant that she’d been out around three hours.
    “Where are we?” she demanded.
    Jacob grimaced, glancing around the small space. “It’s a warehouse near the Gulf.”
    Bailey didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
    “Why would they bring us here?”
    “I think they’re waiting for a boat to arrive.”
    “You mean the Brotherhood?”
    “Yes.”
    Bailey lowered her hand from her aching jaw, stabbing her companion with a suspicious glare.
    From the beginning she’d assumed that Jacob was a victim. Now she wasn’t nearly so certain.
    “You know them,” she accused.
    “No.” He halted, grimacing as he heaved a sigh. Sentinels could technically tell a falsehood, but they were trained from the second that they entered the monastery that lying held dire consequences. Of course, that didn’t mean that they always shared all the info. Or that they couldn’t twist the truth until it was nearly unrecognizable. “I mean, I don’t know all of them,” he at last muttered.
    “Which one do you know?”
    “The leader. He goes by the name Limburg.” Even in the darkness Bailey could make out the young Sentinel’s sick expression. “He’s my father.”
    She made a sound of shock before her brows abruptly drew together in confusion.
    “I thought your father was dead?”
    “Why would you think that?”
    She struggled to think through the fog of pain that still clouded her mind.
    “The Sentinels tracked down the man who left you at Valhalla.”
    “Oh.” He gave a shake of his head. “That wasn’t my father; it was my uncle.” He paused, glancing toward the steel door as he leaned toward her. “You’re sure he’s dead?” he asked in a low voice.
    Was Jacob indicating that there were guards outside the door?
    Bailey grimaced, not for the first time wishing she possessed the enhanced senses of a Sentinel.
    “Yes.”
    “Damn.” Genuine regret touched Jacob’s face. “They told me he was. But I’d hoped—”
    “I’m sorry,” she murmured as his words trailed away.
    He gave a slow shake of his head. “It’s okay. We weren’t that close,” he said. “My uncle wasn’t exactly accepted into the Benson clan once he confessed he was a high-blood.” Holding out his arm, he unfastened the wide leather band. Then, turning over his arm,